


A Thin Line Between Love & Hate

by Tournesol



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Enjolras is a Roman, Grantaire is general of the Volscians, M/M, Oneshot, also an excuse to have them clad in leather armors, aufidius!grantaire, but with tremendous respect for each other, coriolanus!enjolras, happens in 493 BC, sleep deprivation made me do it, sword fight, that and that video of Hadley Fraser rehearsing for this play, there's mentions of blood if that makes you queasy, they are mortal enemies, vague coriolanus au, what happens when you use your swords instead of your words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tournesol/pseuds/Tournesol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Enjolras takes in his surroundings, warrior eyes methodically sweeping the area in search of danger. It’s hard to hear anything over the sound of his own breathing and deafening heartbeat mixed with the sound of trumpets, drums, and battle rage cries. He tears at the collar of his armor, too damaged to afford protection when he sees him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greetingsprogramms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greetingsprogramms/gifts).



> No knowledge of the play is really required since it's just a oneshot, all you need to know is in the tags.
> 
> I haven't finished reading the play, I've only read up to Act II scene 3, so this is not really spoilery really since I deviated from what happens in Act I.
> 
> Some bits of dialogue are quotes from the play, if you recognize it, it's not mine.
> 
> Divided into chapters because an alternate ending wrote itself. Chapter 2 is the 'normal' ending, chapter 3 the alternate ending, they happen chronologically after chapter one, read one or both endings as you choose.
> 
> Warning for major character death in the alternate ending (chapter 3). I didn't tag this because you just have to ignore chapter three if that bothers you.
> 
> Barely proofread, concrit welcomed.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://hugatreeortwo.tumblr.com).

When Enjolras makes it to the gates of Corioli, he finds himself alone, back up and reenforcement left behind to insure their line of attack is even and un-breached. He takes two heaving breaths, taking stock of his leather armor, darkened with sweat, blood, and mud. 

It suffered a massive tear on his chest, interrupting the fine engraved line work, emblem of his nobility. The tear is right above his heart, the blow would have been fatal had he not worn his armor.  
He tries not to see this as an ill omen, allowing his eyes to remain shut tight for a quick respite despite the danger. His fist tightens against the grip of his sword to ground himself. 

He takes in his surroundings, warrior eyes methodically sweeping the area in search of danger. It’s hard to hear anything over the sound of his own breathing and deafening heartbeat mixed with the sound of trumpets, drums, and battle rage cries. He tears at the collar of his armor, too damaged to afford protection when he sees him. He tells himself the tightness in his throat is a phantom pressure from his discarded too tight collar. 

Their eyes lock instantly. Blue into gray. He’s clad in armor as well, emerald green with old copper buckles rusted into greens when Enjolras’ is all red and fiery amber. 

“Grantaire.”

“Enjolras.”

“I’m surprised to find you here alone. No lieutenants? One could have thought they were your shadows.”

“I’ll fight with none but thee. This isn’t their wars. You’re mine. But I could say the same of you. Where is your guard Grantaire?”

“Out of this. I’m as yours as you are mine. This we have to fight, true sword to sword.”

An acknowledgment comes between them as they both nod, poised for battle. Grantaire may have Enjolras’ exertion to his advantage when he’s stayed out of the fight as of now, but this means Enjolras has geared fully into battle, blood pumping in his veins full of chemicals that make his mind sharp where Grantaire’s has yet to pick up. In this like all else, they are equals. 

Enjolras is righteous fury where Grantaire is a skilled and tactiful warrior. Enjolras attacks first, his blade clashing against Grantaire’s. The other isn’t deterred and pars his attacks coup pour coup, and manages to get some blows in with his bare fist. The rhythm picks up and they settle into a sort of dance, in between grunts. One of Grantaire’s blows manages to land on Enjolras’ bicep, drawing blood. Enjolras hisses in pain but it does nothing but invigorate him, brow set into a snarl. If Grantaire had had a moment to gaze he could have appreciated the animalistic fury which has seized Enjolras. He is all but a lion, golden mane deployed and curling with sweat and blood, nostrils flared, eyes wild and his  throat letting out snarls and grunts that sound something else than human. 

As the confrontation progresses they get closer and closer, the corded muscles of their necks flexing under the strain, glistening with sweat from the exertion. Not one of them has the advantage, they both land numerous hits that leave their ribs bruised and their skin flayed. 

Enjolras seizes an opportunity to hit Grantaire on the forehead with the grip of his sword when he’d let his guard down, but Grantaire uses the recoil to charge Enjolras with a force the other doesn't have the time to par with his sword. He’s left no choice but to bend to the side and grip Grantaire in a vicious headlock, gathering all the strength in his knees and back to swing Grantaire on his back, knocking his breath out of him, but Grantaire is quick to react and takes Enjolras by surprise by tripping him with his foot. They end up both on the dirty floor, crawling and struggling up close. 

Grantaire straddles Enjolras whose lither frame can do nothing to overbalance Grantaire’s weight. Grantaire grips his sword handle with both hands, ready to strike Enjolras’ head but the latter grips the end of his own blade, cutting his palm, but stopping the attack. 

They look at each other’s eyes intently, grunting from the effort and something else. Enjolras pushes back violently, throwing Grantaire standing on his feet. He barely has time to duck Grantaire’s next attack as soon as he’s on his feet. They can’t feel the pain but they guess it will only be a short respite considering how their sword grips are slick with blood in their hands.

They hold nothing back, and it is offered to the other like a privilege. Each getting the other incensed, giving as good as they get. 

At that point their heartbeats have reached an alarming pace, turning them into drums to be played like a celebration for the gods of war. Enjolras and his angular feminine features are reminiscent of Minerva, where Grantaire’s are as sharp and valiant as Mars.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire’s chest heaves with a grunt that sounds as if coming straight from the inferno and it pierces Enjolras’ concentration for a tenth of a second too long and it’s too late, unsettled, Enjolras’ eyes widen and Grantaire, coiled as a wire, is hitting Enjolras’ blade with full force, dislodging it from his hands to land on the floor in a moment that lasts too long.   

Enjolras’ eyes widen. Grantaire’s too, they are wet with tears for the both of them as Grantaire’s victory dawns on him. Resigned, he lifts his chin higher in pride, opens his arms in invitation, offering his neck, glistening with sweat and read with blood, to Grantaire.

Grantaire is frozen, as if pained by his victory, as if he’d hoped for a different outcome, bearing his victory like a defeat. 

He’s almost hyperventilating and staring at Enjolras’ with too sad incredulous eyes.

“Come on, victor, seize your prize” exclaims Enjolras through clenched teeth, with fierce determination, dominating from his position of weakness.

Grantaire moves purposefully towards Enjolras who doesn’t falter, stands more elevated if else. He expects the coup de grâce, beckons it. Only Grantaire swings his blade downwards and puts the grip in Enjolras hands, reversing their positions, making himself a target ready for Enjolras to strike.

Enjolras gasps, tears finally released and running on his cheeks. He can’t look away from Grantaire, can’t wrap his mind around the moment, this is an impossibility. He can feel Grantaire's hands wrapped firmly around his own to secure them around the grip of the sword, and Grantaire is pleading with his eyes but Enjolras can’t, because without Grantaire there’s no war, no victory. Taking Grantaire’s life like this would be a debasement. 

He falls to his knees and Grantaire goes with him, and the sword is thrown aside as if it were burning iron. Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s collar with his hands now free and lets a wracking sob escape, and his forehead falls against Grantaire’s and he’s crying openly now, heaving shaky breaths, and Grantaire is too. They end up sobbing against each other’s neck, grabbing the other as if holding onto dear life and maybe they are.


	3. Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for major character death. Can be ignored if that bothers you.

Grantaire’s chest heaves with a grunt that sounds as if coming straight from the inferno and it pierces Enjolras’ concentration for a tenth of a second too long and it’s too late, unsettled, Enjolras’ eyes widen and Grantaire, coiled as a wire, is hitting Enjolras’ blade with full force.

Enjolras is driven backwards and loses his balance, exposing his armored chest where the leather is teared, and where in Grantaire drives his sword. 

Enjolras lets out a gasp which ends in a moan and he looks incredulously at Grantaire, whose eyes widen and wet his cheeks with tears.

Enjolras, at the threshold of death, looks to Grantaire with something akin to wonder, and offers a small smile to his victor, only he doesn’t have the time to close his eyes as Grantaire lets go of his sword to take a hold of Enjolras', setting his hands on Enjolras’ around the grip and drives himself onto the blade. They both fall onto their knees, their hands on each other’s still, and they share their last breath together, head falling on the other’s shoulder. Grantaire is smiling too.


End file.
